Voldy's Lost It!
by Patronus12
Summary: The inevitable has finally happened to our ol' pal Voldy- the thin strings attaching him to sanity have snapped. Follow him through his many crazy shenanigans, including (but not limited to) musical numbers, picking out a not-so-perfect Deathie Mascot, and discovering his inner fashion sense.
1. Introduction (Duhn Duhn Duuuhn!)

AN: Hey everyone! Sorry I haven't posted anything in a while, but here I am now, finally posting the story I've been working almost a whole year on. YAY! Posting the first chapter today is to celebrate the one-year anniversary of the Patronus12 account! Whooooo! *chucks cake at everyone, and dumps confetti onto the heads of Talon, Tawny, Sneaky, and Niagara* :D

Anyway, chapters in this story will vary in length, but it's all just for fun. I'll try to update as frequently as possible, but you know how I am. Eh.

Here is chapter one of VLI- my totally-not-brand-new, completely random fic. Enjoy!

((Edit 12/11/15: I am going through and rewriting the two chapters I have up so far, and hopefully adding more when I can. I hope it's a little better this time around! Feedback is much appreciated.))

* * *

Lord Voldemort liked to think that he was a respected and feared man, and he wasn't afraid to be honest about that seemingly narcissistic opinion. He was, after all, quite worthy of being considered as such.

He was an extremely powerful wizard. He was the most formidable wizard in existence, in his eyes; it wasn't as if Dumbledore counted, right? Surely he was, if people were afraid, or reluctant at best, to even utter his name. He had his supporters, as well: people who believed that he was the great man he said he was. His massive army was always behind him, composed of his loyal and handy-dandy Death Eaters, and they had found allies in all sorts of the darkest creatures. So what if trolls weren't smart? They were gargantuan, and managed to flatten their opponents eventually. Brawn over brains, in their case. He had to keep it balanced somehow.

On top of all of that, he was educated in all forms of magic, both Light and Dark- except for that Love nonsense, but he did just fine without it anyway. His main advantage was the Darkness, as the Light side wouldn't use both, even if they were capable.

He had extensive plans for his soon-to-be empire, when he had conquered the Muggles and ruled the Wizarding world with an iron fist. But, as karma would have it, he had one weak spot in his oh-so-wonderful plans. Achieving world domination would be a perfectly simple feat if it wasn't for Harry Potter. That boy drove Voldemort up the wall with his endless, torturous strokes of luck. The-Boy-Who-Lived-to-Frustrate-the-Dark-Lord-and-Foil-Every-Single-One-of-HIs-Evil-Plans just. Wouldn't. DIE!

He tried, he really did- He tried to his fullest capabilities every day, he stayed up through all hours of the night pacing the floor and formulating an infinite number of plans, he tried until he could try no longer and fell asleep, waking up the next day to do it again. He _tried_ to kill the boy. He had a whole folder of future schemes and failed attempts in his secret lair, from 'Plan A' to 'Y'. But to no avail; none of it ever worked! Potter always had a stroke of luck, he would fume after a disastrous confrontation. Or a bit of last-minute help from the Bearded Nuisance, or even someone to jump into the path of death for him… Speaking of which, self-sacrifice was another thing he would never understand. He couldn't bear not knowing how Potter managed to escape from his clutches every time, with no exceptions thus far. He was the almighty Lord Voldemort! How was it possible that he was being foiled by a _teenager_?

He'd tried for years, but his plans had always been foiled by mere circumstance. Every time Lord Voldemort failed to kill Harry Potter, a little more of his sanity trickled away from him, until the day came when he had failed one too many times. On this day, as the Dark Lord stared at the spot on the ground where his retreated nemesis had been standing just seconds ago, something in the temporal lobe of his brilliant brain snapped. Poof. Like a rainbow bit of yarn cut with a shiny pair of scissors. A metaphorical cloud of sparkling mist spread from that cut string, leaking through to the parietal and frontal lobes, obliterating everything in its path.

And on that fateful day, the entire world, the galaxy, the _universe_ nearly exploded at the ringing sound of his maniacal laughter.

* * *

AN: This was just a taste of what's to come. I actually have 11 chapter pre-written, and I think… 28 in total planned out, but if you want to leave a suggestion for either a chapter theme or a small thing I should include in any of my chapters, those would be appreciated! Let me know what you thought! Again, this was just a sort of prologue and probably didn't seem like much, but I would also appreciate it if you'd take the time to click ahead and read the next chapters! Thanks for reading.

~Breeze


	2. Letting It Go

A/N: Hey! Chapter one was sort of just an introduction, so it isn't quite like the rest of the story. I hope at least some of you are interested enough to keep reading. I may change chapter one eventually. Anyway, sorry this isn't out sooner; I've been a little occupied with being lazy, if you know what I mean. Here's chapter two :)

((Edit 12/11/2015: This chapter has also been rewritten. All chapters from this point forward are new.))

* * *

After Harry Potter had escaped that final time, the strings attaching Lord Voldemort to his last shred of sanity disintegrated, leaving a massive effect on everything connected to it; namely, his entire mind and personality. There was someone else who noticed, since this person was also connected to this loose string: the one person who had access to slivers of the Dark Lord's mind, the person who had caused the life-altering reaction.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir!" Harry Potter himself gasped, bursting into the Headmaster's office. A pale hand clutched the scar on his forehead, his glasses askew and an expression of pure agony on his face.

"Harry! What has happened?" Dumbledore, who had been answering yet another hate-letter from Minister I'm-So-Perfect Fudge, rose hurriedly from his seat. He rushed over to guide Harry towards the empty chair placed in front of his desk.

Harry collapsed into the seat, beginning to sweat. "It's him," he forced out, and Dumbledore leaned forward with concern.

It had only been a few hours since he had used Side-Along Apparition to transport Harry away from Voldemort and to the safety of Hogwarts. He had been taken to the Hospital Wing to recover from the encounter, and was supposed to remain there for the remainder of the day, at least. Madam Pomfrey must have ushered the boy up to his office. What was going on?

"For a few months now, I've been getting these crazy visions of the most random things… But until now, I've waved it off as exam stress, or something. A few minutes ago, the connection with Voldemort went _haywire_ \- my scar's burning like mad, and the visions came back, worse than before." Harry closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

Haywire? Dumbledore's brows furrowed. He gave Harry a moment to try calming down to ease the pain, conjuring a glass of water. "Try to focus, Harry," he urged. "What is it that you see? Can you hear anything? Do you feel any sort of unexplained emotion, any at all?"

Harry took a tentative sip from the glass before closing his eyes again, grimacing as the pain intensified due to his concentration. After another moment, he told the Headmaster, "I see… Lots of colorful, flashing lights, and… Wait, was that a /pineapple/?"

Since when did Voldemort ever like pineapples? As far as Dumbledore could remember, Tom had never touched the fruit during his time at Hogwarts… Not that he'd been watching the boy _that_ carefully. He was just a very observant man.

"How random. Go on," Dumbledore murmured after a brief silence, during which Harry just looked confused.

"Right. I hear, er, lots of crazed laughter… Professor, what does this _mean_? I feel… I'm not sure. It's sort of happy, but… different. I don't get it."

Nor did Dumbledore. What _could_ it mean? What did it suggest about the Dark Lord's plans or thoughts? It most definitely wasn't something either of them were expecting. "I do not know, Harry," he confessed. "For once, I have not a clue."

The two sat in a puzzled silence for a few minutes. Harry winced again. "He's… started singing. Merlin… His voice is _terrible_."

"You hear him again," Dumbledore observed, learning forwards in his seat, hands steepled in thought. "Tell me, if you will… What song is it that the Dark Lord is singing?" The words 'Dark Lord' and 'singing' sounded terribly odd within the same sentence.

"I… I'm not sure," Harry told him, feeling quite awkward. "I've never heard it before. But it goes something like, 'Let it go, let it go, I can't hold it back anymore…'"

"Frozen," came Dumbledore's immediate gasp of recognition.

"What?"

"Nothing of your concern, Harry," Dumbledore waved his hand, as if to physically brush the question off. "The world shall see someday. But for now," he added, leaning back wearily into his chair, "we must tread carefully. Voldemort has been unpredictable in the past. He will be just as dangerous now, maybe even more so. I am not even sure why, or what is causing this. Do not worry about it for now; leave that to me. Instead, you should see Madam Pomfrey about that scar of yours- and that is nonnegotiable," he stated firmly, seeing the thoughts of disobedience in the boy's eyes. "Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger can wait to hear the story."

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded, resigned, sliding the chair back. He stood up, slightly unsteady on his feet. "I'll let you know if something else happens?"

"Please do," Dumbledore agreed, watching as Harry left the room, the troubled expression never wavering from his aged face. He just didn't know.

* * *

A/N: Well, it was slightly longer. I hope it was alright. Next chapter we get some Voldy interaction, so that should be fun, right? If you have any ideas for chapters, feel free to send them in a review or a PM.

Thanks to Talon and Tawny for your interest in the story! You rock :D Sorry I didn't update sooner for you. I hope this made up for it, just a little bit?

~Breeze


	3. Follow the Yellow Brick Road

AN: Hello again! I'm finally back with a new chapter. It's been a while, but hopefully some of you are still interested in reading the story. If you've read this in the past, be sure to reread the first two chapters, as they've been rewritten and hopefully improved a bit. If you're new to this fic, then you've already read the rewritten chapters, and you can ignore everything I've just said (also, welcome new readers, and thank you for reading this far!).

Merry Christmas to those who celebrate it, and have a happy New Year! Enjoy the chapter.

Breeze

* * *

The day after his scar's explosion of color and pineapples, Harry received a letter from an owl. The bird swept through an open window and crossed the Gryffindor common room, where Harry was conversing quietly with Ron and Hermione. He had been released from the Hospital Wing about an hour earlier and had immediately told his friends everything that had occurred the previous day, starting with his encounter and narrow escape from Voldemort and ending with Dumbledore's ominous warning.

The owl perched on the arm of Harry's chair and held out his leg. The letter's recipient stopped midsentence to peer at the bird. He didn't recognize it; maybe it was a rental owl from the owl post office in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. But who could it be from? Apparently he was taking far too long to ponder this, at least for the owl, who gave an impatient screech. Harry jumped and scrambled to untie the letter, Hermione and Ron watching silently. The minute the letter left its leg, the owl took off in a blur of feathers.

"Who's it from?" Ron asked as Harry rolled open the parchment and read quickly.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _Please come quickly, because I have something important to discuss with you immediately._

 _To find me, simply follow the yellow brick road._

 _Happy traveling!_

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Professor A. P. W. B. Dummbledoor_

Harry's brow furrowed when he'd finished. There were many suspicious things about the letter, including the fact that it was definitely not in Dumbledore's familiar slanted handwriting, and that his name was blatantly spelled wrong. Plus, there was that reference- because, despite all of his claims about loving Muggles, Dumbledore didn't really know _that_ much about them.

But who didn't trust Dumbledore? Besides, his name was definitely on the letter, albeit spelled strangely.

"It's from Dumbledore," Harry told Ron and Hermione, looking up to see expressions of shock on their faces.

Confused about why a letter from Dumbledore would seem that out of the ordinary to them, he opened his mouth to ask why they were so surprised. Hermione, however, interrupted him before he could speak. "Harry," she gasped, pointing to the ground behind him. "What is _that_?"

Harry whirled around to see that a path of yellow bricks had magically appeared before him.

"Apparently, I need to follow this to talk to Dumbledore," Harry explained to his bewildered companions, standing up. "I'll be back soon, hopefully."

He glanced down at the shimmering bricks again. When he stared down the path, he could have sworn that he felt a dark sense of foreboding deep in his soul. Despite this, Harry wasn't worried. Why? Because it was Dumbledore! He instantly decided that he was probably just imagining it. He stepped onto the path, and his white and black trainers instantly turned a bright, sparkling red.

"Okay," Hermione said, sounding wary, but only slightly. "Ask him where he gets his robes from!"

"Bring back some lemon sherbets!" Ron exclaimed with a grin.

"Bye, Harry!" they called together as their friend walked away, not questioning him. Again, who doesn't trust Dumbledore? They hadn't seen the letter and its faults, anyway.

Harry followed the path through the entrance to the common room. It continued on through the corridors and down seven staircases, turning the brick stairs bright yellow in color as he walked along. He soon realized that it led away from the Headmaster's office, as he followed it through the castle doors and across the grounds. It even led him, he discovered, past the gates. This, however, didn't worry him as much as it probably should have. He was sure that Dumbledore had a perfectly good reason for their admittedly odd meeting place. There was always a method behind the man's madness.

He walked for nearly three quarters of an hour, and he dimly realized after a while that in his travels, he had distanced himself from the castle far too much. However, a tune had filled his head as he'd walked. While he should have realized that it was completely out of character for him, and that it was accompanied by the familiar twitch of his scar, and that's its source was, therefore, most likely from his connection with Voldemort… No matter what he did, he couldn't shake it off. So, he began to sing, skipping along to the beat:

 _"I'm off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz!_

 _"I hear he is a whiz of a wiz', if ever a wiz' there was!_

 _"If ever, oh ever a wiz' there was, the Wizard of Oz is one because,_

 _"Because, because, because, because,_ becaaauuse _…_

 _"Because of the wonderful things he does!_

 _"I'm off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz!"_

As he reached the end of his song, Harry found himself standing in the mouth of a large, dark cave. Blinking in surprise, he looked down. The yellow brick road had ended there. He cautiously stepped inside, adjusting his glasses and squinting through the gloom.

"P-Professor?" he called out. "Professor Dumbledore?"

Instead of the warm call of welcome Harry had been expecting from Dumbledore, slow and deliberate clapping bounced off of the stone walls, making him jump. "Very good, Potter," a high, cool voice exclaimed. "Excellent performance! What fantastic rhythm!"

Harry was not greeted by the sight of his bearded professor stepping out of the shadows. Instead, with a rush of horror that sent shivers down his spine, he found himself suddenly surrounded by a circle of hooded figures in gleaming masks. Before he could fully comprehend the situation, Voldemort's pale, snake-like, nose-less face loomed out of the darkness.

* * *

**Credit to VivyPotter for her help with revising and improving this chapter... Like, over a year ago XD Thank you for the help!**


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